


Busy Being Yours

by Mamichigo



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Awkward Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Casual Sex, Drinking, Feelings Realization, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-18 14:16:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16120193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mamichigo/pseuds/Mamichigo
Summary: Since the moment they met, Markus has been drawn to Connor; the pull of a black hole is hard to fight, but more so when you're not interested in getting out of it. Connor is full of mysteries Markus is itching to uncover, and it comes as no surprise that the fixation results in the two of them sleeping together.





	Busy Being Yours

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially planned to be 2k long, what the hell happened here.
> 
> *A few precautionary warnings: both Connor and Markus work for the police; mentions of guns (both of those are bg stuff and barely talked about/explored, but I want to play it safe just in case). Bruises, hickeys and scratches are talked about pretty consistently throughout the whole thing. That's pretty much it!
> 
> Title from "Do I Wanna Know" by Artic Monkeys.

Connor Stern had a scarily accurate aim.

That was the first thing Markus took notice of when he saw him, one day at the shooting range. At the time, Markus’ attention had been caught by how much Connor’s hand shook. His unstable hands loaded a pistol with practiced efficiency, and Markus had thought it’d be impressive if the guy managed to hit the target at all trembling like that.

Markus wasn’t aware of what kind of person Connor was at that point. So he watched absentmindedly, waiting for his turn in the crowded range, wondering how things would turn out. Connor didn’t look much older than Markus, and he lacked the awkward enthusiasm every newbie radiated, so he mustn’t been new in the academy. Which ruled out the option that the man was shaking from nerves.

Maybe he was just one of those people who came to the range to drown out the stress and the loud noises in their heads. The academy was full of people like that, who would throw themselves into work: to forget their own personal lives, or to forget themselves.

Connor had inhaled quietly, barely there, a detail that Markus wouldn’t have picked up on if he hadn’t be watching him. When he exhales, Connor’s hands are steady, as if the jerky movements were never there, nothing more than a trick and Markus had fallen for it. He shoots once.

It hits dead center, a shot to the heart, perfectly placed, methodical. Connor seems to pause, asserting the hole in the target. After a split second, he’s back to shooting, six times in a row, between one breath and the other, quick and effortless.

Something about it feels almost vicious, cold. The target now has a hole in its head and throat, again so perfectly accurate that you could trace a straight line between them, like playing connect the dots. The other holes, however, are randomly placed, strewn about, more irrational than its twins. Connor sets his gun down, removes his goggles and his ear mufflers.

His hands are shaking again.

There’s a beat of silence, quickly followed by a wave of murmurs and curious eyes. Some of them look like they want to approach Connor, maybe congratulate him on his aim or ask for tips, exchange pleasantries. But Connor remains aloof, shut off, expression hard enough to keep everyone in their spots. He doesn’t seem particularly interested in making conversation and is not shy in making that clear through his body language.

So, when Connor approaches Markus instead of heading straight to the door, he almost startles. Connor makes an intimidating figure when he comes up to him like that, so Markus takes advantage of the few centimeters between them to seem more imposing, looking down at Connor.

“You were watching me,” Connor states simply. It doesn’t surprise Markus that he noticed him watching, but the bluntness does take him off guard, causing Markus to stumble on his own words.

“I—Sorry, I didn’t mean—, I…” Markus frowned, but gave himself a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking again. “Sorry if it made you uncomfortable. I was waiting for my turn and you caught my attention, that’s all.”

Connor raised his eyebrows, head tilted. “Caught your attention, huh,” he said in a low voice, as if testing the words, a thoughtful hum following it. He smiled pleasantly. “Well, I fear I don’t have the time to hang around much longer, but it was nice meeting you. My name’s Connor.”

The words are strangely polite, nothing more than a recorded message, just like the perfect three shots and its small bullet holes. A practiced excuse and an automatic politeness, out of place when they have barely spoken for the meeting to be called “nice”. Markus’ frown deepens, but he nods.

“Yes, you too. I’m Markus,” he returns, but for some reason doesn’t expect him to remember the name.

Connor leaves before anyone, even Markus himself, could say anything more to him.

 

* * *

 

Connor is pretty much the same a year and a half later, except for his new shiny badge and the darker circles under his eyes. There’s a nearly permanent crease on his forehead now as well, but that’s a change seen in most of the police officers, something Markus himself sees every day in the mirror.

Markus doesn’t see Connor as often as you’d expect from two persons who work in the same place, but their shifts rarely meet, their line of operation are very different, and Connor seems to have found a strong love for field work, his desk seen empty more often than not. Whenever they do get to occupy the same space and time, Markus notices that his observation that Connor hasn’t changed isn’t exactly accurate.

While Connor still acts the same, all perfect performance and pleasantries, his appearance is enough to catch anyone’s attention; Connor walks around with perfect hair, but tired and bloodshot eyes, often sporting bright purple marks all over his neck that he doesn’t bother hiding. He’ll sometimes smell strongly of coffee, sometimes faintly of alcohol. He smiles at anyone who speaks to him, but doesn’t approach anyone on his own volition unless it’s relevant to his current investigation.

But he’s still just as alone as he ever was.

There are a few pictures on Connor’s desk, some of his younger brother and most of what Markus assumes is Connor’s own dog, which proves that there’s at least _someone_ in Connor’s life, that he has loved ones, things he cherishes. But otherwise, he’s never seen talking to a friend or a romantic partner, despite what the hickeys say. His interactions outside of work are reserved to idle small talk in the break room, but Markus has quickly learned that Connor barely knows how to interact with other people when he’s not trying to get something out of them. He’s awkward and unsure, and any attempts at conversation end with heavy silence hanging over their head unpleasantly.

And still so, Connor interests Markus in way that other people don’t, the quiet thrum of fascination running under his skin, vibrating whenever he gets glimpses of Connor in the halls of the police department. The whispers of Connor’s life have Markus hooked, wrapped in fine spider webs: low conversations on the phone with his brother, the caffeine induced shaking, the silly cartoon dog picture on his lock screen. The days when he has bags under his eyes, the days when he looks so detached that he’s barely there.

The one time Markus accidentally sees Connor, frowning and serious, looking up how to talk to other people. Connor reads the wiki how article carefully, the same way he’d approach a police report, silent and concentrated. At the end, he locks his phone with a defeated sigh, turning a little to see Markus standing there. Their eyes meet. They don’t say anything, and each goes on with their usual routine.

 

 

* * *

 

“So the great Markus has finally decided to grace us with his presence,” is the first thing out of North’s mouth and she sees him approach the booth where she’s drinking with Josh by her side and Simon sat across them. “Never thought we’d ever see you again at this rate, y’know.” She’s smirking, but her eyes are soft. North has always had a warmth to her when she wasn’t burning as strongly as a forest fire; it’s a familiar sight, and a welcoming one.

“After all the threatening messages, I started fearing for my safety. Better play it safe, I suppose,” Markus jokes right back, briefly kissing her cheek before settling down next to Simon, clapping his shoulder.

Josh raises his eyebrows, smiling with amusement. “So no friendly touch for me?”

“How am I supposed to reach you from here?” Markus gestured to the table between them. “And North was on the way. We have to settle for what we can have sometimes.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” North interjects, “you’re literally known for being the guy who can’t be stopped when he’s sure he’s right. If you wanted to give Josh a macho pat on the back, you’d have done it.”

“She’s got a point, Markus,” Simon speaks up, getting a betrayed look from Markus. “How could you leave Josh out like this? You really have changed…”

“Yeah, it’s like we don’t even know you anymore, Markus,” North says.

“It’s okay, guys. I… I’ll get through this. Even if Markus doesn’t like me anymore, I’ll live.” Josh even looks down at his hands with sadness as he says this, prompting North to rub his back and whisper encouragement to him.

“Even without his bear hugs?” Simon asks.

“Even without his bear hugs.”

“Josh, you’re so strong,” Simon sounds almost irreverent. All three of them are giggling—well, except for North, who’s full on laughing, loud and unashamed like this is the most fun she’s had in her life.

She just likes bullying Markus.

“All of you are terrible friends,” Markus states, huffing, to which North sticks her tongue out at him, Simon touches his arm sympathetically and Josh grins. “I take the time to see all of you and this is the treatment I get.”

“Don’t worry, Markus, we appreciate that you showed up today, despite how busy you are,” Simon reassures, always the sweet creature that he is. Sometimes Markus asks how they managed to get Simon as their friend.

“Yeah, it was more than time for you loser to show your sorry ass around,” and there goes North.

“I have to agree with North on this one,” Josh says, and the two of them high five. At least they are agreeing with each other, even if at Markus’ expanse, instead of having petty fights, so Markus will take it.

The evening goes on like this, Markus smiling more than he has in the past three weeks, finally relaxed. It might be corny to say, and he was sure they would tease him for it (especially North), but being around his friends feels like coming home. More so than going back to an empty apartment, where he would often end up calling his dad, who he hasn’t visited in a long time. Carl is understanding (nothing Markus can do about the few cities between them, after all), but it doesn’t stop Markus from feeling guilty, and it does nothing to soothe the hollow ache that is missing Carl.

Sometimes, Markus thinks he’s burdened with more responsibility than he’s able to deal with; it almost makes him want to run from it all.

Point is, he’s having fun, feeling more like himself, his skin properly settled on his bones instead of stretched thin. Markus is laughing and unaware of the rest of the world, his attention solely focused on his best friends. Which is why seeing Connor sitting alone by the bar counter catches him so off guard.

He’s holding a nearly empty glass in his hand, turning it this and that way, watching the remains of his drink swirl around at the bottom. It’s a sad sight, lonely and depressing; Markus’ chest aches with it. Markus taps his fingers on the tabletop as he makes his decision and, before his friends can notice him spacing out, he’s up and speaking, “I’ll be back in a second.”

Josh and Simon speak at the same, a simple “okay” and “what” respectively, almost drowned out by North yelling after him to get another shot for her. He waves an impatient hand at them, choosing to ignore their curious gaze in favor of paying close attention to Connor.

“I didn’t know you liked to drink here,” Markus starts off casually, an elbow leaning on the counter to get a closer look at Connor. “Never saw you around before.”

Connor looks annoyed for a split second, but it changes to a look of recognition when he turns to look at Markus. His grip on the glass tightens. “I wouldn’t say it’s my usual choice, no.”

“That would explain it.” Connor makes an inquiring noise, so Markus gestures at the place at large as he speaks again, “This bar is a favorite of my friends’, I think I would have seen you here at some point if you were a regular.”

“Of course,” Connor replied, short and direct. It’s almost dismissive.

“You come with anyone?” Markus presses on anyway.

“No, I didn’t.” Connor rubs a thumb on the glass, wiping a drop of perspiration. “I’m alone.”

It’s not surprising to hear that, but it still bothers Markus, especially with how hunched into himself Connor is, appearing small and lacking all the presence and strong energy he has at work. Markus glances briefly at his booth, then back at Connor, who’s no longer looking at him.

“You should join us, Connor. The company would probably be good for you.”

Connor’s eyes are curious, but guarded. He seems skeptical. “There’s no need to invite me over, Markus. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your friendly outing.”

“You wouldn’t be interrupting. I’m the one suggesting you join us, after all, I can guarantee your presence isn’t unwanted.”

“That’s very kind of you, but—”

“No but now. There’s no need for you to be alone on a Friday night when I can provide the company.” Markus smiles as invitingly as he can. “And if you get there and decide you don’t feel like talking, we can do that in your place and you just to sit there and listen. North in particular has a lot in her mind and she’s very vocal about her opinions.”

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea, Markus,” Connor protests, looking more uncomfortable with each passing second.

“How about this,” Markus gestures for four drinks to the bartender, quickly detailing his order, “you help me carry these back to our table and I repay the favor by letting you sit with us. Does that sound good?”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Well,” Markus nods in thanks to the bartender when his drinks arrives, promptly shoving two of them into Connor’s hands, “it is now. There’s no harm in it, is there? If you feel too out of place, you’re free to leave, I’ll even cover for you.”

Connor pondered for a bit, long enough that Markus is sure he’s going to refuse after all, but Connor nods wordlessly soon enough, waiting for Markus to move first so he can follow him to the right booth. It’s a pretty short walk, but it still manages to mess with Markus nerves, especially when Simon is watching them the entire time; he looks more curious and inquisitive than anything else, but it’s still pretty unnerving to have someone watch him like that.

“That was more than a minute,” North states, her version of delicately asking what the hell was the hold up.

“Hello to you too, North. I got us a new round.” He handed a glass to North and the other to Josh. “Connor helped me bring them here.”

Connor, who was silent up until now, holding on to the drinks and unsure of what to do with it, jolted just a bit, but took a step forward so the others could better see him. “We haven’t been introduced yet; my name’s Connor. Markus required my assistance, so I gave him a hand.”

“More like two, but go on,” North commented, getting a roll of the eyes from Josh.

“Connor and I know each other, and since he so kindly offered to help me, I thought it’d only be _nice_ to let him join us tonight. Right, everyone?” Josh and Simon nodded, Simon a little more enthusiastically, but North grinned, knowing that the comment was directed at her.

Markus put an arm on Connor’s elbow, guiding him to sit right after Markus; the spot made it easy for Connor to leave if he felt the need for it and it kept him from going through the discomfort of sitting close to someone he just met. Precautions for Connor’s sake.

“It’s really nice meet you, Connor. I’m Simon, and those two are North and Josh,” Simon pointed to each of them respectively. “They can be a bit a much, but you’re at least lucky you didn’t get here in the middle of a new argument.”

“Simon, you don’t have to always make us look bad to every new person we talk to,” Josh admonished. “You make it sound like we’re a second away from getting into a shouting match.”

“Well, aren’t you? Besides, I’d rather he be warned than scared.” Simon shrugged.

“Don’t worry, I’m not easy to scare, but I appreciate the sentiment all the same.” Connor paused, noticing he was still holding the drinks in his hands. “I’m guessing these are for you two.” He slid the two glasses towards Markus and Simon, the latter picking it up with a ‘thank you’, while the former shook his head, pushing the drink back towards Connor.

“Take it, that one is yours. It’s on me.” Connor accepted with some reluctance, but he wasn’t openly refusing anymore, so Markus counted that as a win.

“So,” Josh started, looking between the two of them, “where do you know Markus from, Connor?”

“We are colleagues at the police department, but we’ve met before that, at the academy,” Connor explained. While it does answer Josh’s question, the impersonal response and lack of details seems to bother the group; Markus can already guess that they’re digging for info they can use to tease him with.

“I’d like to believe we have a tentative friendship,” Markus says, and it feels damning when all of his friends are looking at the two of them like hungry hawks.

“I was under the impression we were just acquaintances, but that could also describe it, yes,” Connor replies, stiff. Markus can hear Simon wincing.

“So you mean you do your own thing and Markus is very insistent on talking to you anyways and he also gets on your case about things that are absolutely not his business, right?” North pipes up, smiling. “’Cause we’ve all been there one way or another.”

“But especially you,” Markus completes for her.

“But especially me.”

“I wouldn’t exactly put it that way, but…” Connor tilted his head. “Markus has indeed expressed concern over my caffeine consume. And he’s often the only person who attempts to make small talk in the break room.”

“That does sound like him,” Josh says, smiling.

“Yes, Markus tends to make other’s wellbeing his priority. Even if sometimes they might not want him to,” Simon agreed.

“He does appear to have a liking for motivational speeches, even when it’s entirely too early in the morning to think properly,” Connor adds. Markus realizes with some surprise that he has never seen Connor be playful like this.

When Markus think back to their previous (and very stiff) conversations, it is an undeniable fact that they none of them had as much as ease as that one sentence had; even his speech felt more natural and less like words Connor was mechanically reading from a book.

“Markus thinks his sole purpose on this Earth is to save all of our unfortunate souls, he’s almost like Jesus in that regard,” North explains to Connor, who’s smiling at her, leaning forward on his elbows.

“I believe Jesus at least could respect someone’s need for caffeine,” Connor shot back, getting laughs from the entire group. Connor seemed proud of himself for getting that kind of reaction from them; probably not used to using his humor all that often, Connor observed their responses and ate it up, satisfied when they laughed or joked back, the same look of satisfaction he would have when being praised for a well done investigation on his face.

The difference here, Markus noticed, was that his friends were just throwing teasing remarks around, not hesitating to pull Connor into their inside jokes, but not get too deep into it so he doesn’t have to feel lost in the conversation. They aren’t doing it on purpose—well, actually Simon might be, but Josh and North are more spontaneous than that, they’re just acting how they would with anyone else, and making Connor feel welcomed by instincts alone.

And they never ask Connor about himself, nor do they express any concern over the subtle mentions of his unhealthy eating habits and terrible sleeping schedule. So unlike what Markus has done when they’ve talked before.

It comes as no surprise that Connor gets along the best with North, who’s sarcastic but with a good dose of humor, and has a challenging streak that’s amusing to watch, and even more so to take part of. By the end of the night, they’re all just on the other side of tipsy.

Simon looks like he’s going to fall asleep right there with his head on Markus’ shoulder. Josh is listening quietly as North complains about one of her coworkers, with Connor occasionally asking her one question or another.

Markus himself it a bit of out of it, just enough for him to call it a night. He sits there, mind buzzing pleasantly as he watches Connor interact with everyone else; he notices the way Connor has a habit of rubbing his hands together and his tendency to fidget with whatever is in his hands. He reaffirms how unique Connor’s voice is, and discovers that it’s pretty pleasant to listen to when Connor is relaxed and friendly. Approachable, inviting.

He notices a mole on the back of Connor’s neck and a fading bruise under it, only visible when he moves just so, shirt shifting to reveal the mark, the greenish yellow almost invisible in the dim light. Markus doesn’t think about it too much, even if his eyes do tend to fall on that particular spot a lot throughout the night.

It’s not long before Josh decides they should be going for the night, especially with Simon drooling all over Markus’ sleeve. North agrees easily enough; she doesn’t like being out too late, even when she has someone with her (she has admitted to Markus that she feels unsafe, no matter how much they guarantee they’ll make get her home safely; Markus didn’t question it, had just nodded at the time and squeezed her arm reassuringly).

“Markus, are you coming with us tonight?” Josh asks when their tab is paid and they’re standing in a small circle. Simon and North are leaning against each and she’s mumbling something, getting small nods from Simon. “These two can’t be trusted to get to their own places, so I’ll just let them crash at mine.”

“I would like to, but I have to be at work early tomorrow. Your apartment is farther away and I’d rather have time to at least eat breakfast before going out.” Markus steps closer to hug Josh, who accepts the touch readily. “You guys be careful on the way back.”

“You two as well,” Josh said, waving Connor goodbye as he gently nudges North and Simon to start walking. They make their way out to the sound of Simon’s “bye, Markus” and North making silly kissy noises.

“I should get going as well,” Connor says when it’s just Markus and himself left. “It is getting pretty late.”

“Do you have a morning shift too?” Markus inquires curiously.

“Tomorrow is my day off, actually. I don’t have any pressing appointments I need to be worried about.” Maybe it’s just Markus’ impression, but Connor sounds _disappointed_ when he says that. “But I do live a relatively long car ride away from here.”

“So you weren’t kidding when you said this isn’t your preferred bar,” Markus commented, getting a nod from Connor. He wanted to ask what prompted someone to go through the inconvenience of riding a car for enough time for it to be considered long to go drinking in a random bar, but Markus sensed it wasn’t the time for probing questions (was it ever with Connor?).

“You could come with me instead,” Markus suggests. “I live nearby, close enough that we could even walk there.”

Connor tilts his head, frowning. For some reason, Markus thinks of the yellow bruise that he can’t see from this angle.

“I’ve intruded into your life enough for one night, I’d say.”

“You didn’t. It was a fun night, and a good change of pace. Everyone seemed to like you. Even if most of the jokes were at my expanse, I’d say I had a great time.” Markus dipped his head a bit, looking into Connor’s eyes in the way that Simon has told him to be so sincere it feels intimate. “It would be no bother to have you around for a little longer.”

“I don’t know—“

“I can even promise to make you breakfast in the morning, no charges,” Markus goes on, watching the way Connor’s throat bobs when he swallows. Markus shouldn’t be so insistent, shouldn’t keep pressing, should just let Connor go on his way. He shouldn’t think of it—

Markus remembers the faded bruise; he wants to make it bright purple again.

“You can sleep in, and I can make some nice coffee, instead of the stuff you get at work.” Markus put a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “It’s convenient and you can worry about the distance tomorrow morning.”

Connor leans into his touch subtly, and he rubs his hands together yet again, perhaps a little anxiously. When he looks up at Markus, his eyes are dark, but there’s a fragility to it. He nods. “I’d love to, then.”

 

* * *

 

Markus was self aware enough to admit this to be an outcome he had subconsciously been hoping for—since the time Connor had met his eyes just as he rubbed two fingers on a particularly vicious hickey with a slight wince and held his gaze the entire time, only looking away when Markus did so first—, but vaguely imagining something in the back of his mind was very different from actually waking up to Connor’s peaceful sleeping face.

The sheets are doing a poor job of hiding Connor’s body, as he probably tossed it away in his sleep due to the hot weather, so only his bottom half is covered—though only partially. The graceful arc of his back is enchanting, especially in the soft morning light. Markus can see the many freckles all over Connor’s body, and the faint marks Markus left behind where he might have gripped a little too tightly. Considering the sting on his own back and the most likely angry red scratches there, Markus would say they’re pretty much even.

The idea of keeping on watching, or even getting closer and kissing the soft skin of Connor’s thighs is tempting, but the clock is ticking and Markus’ time for a peaceful breakfast is running out, so he (begrudgingly) abandons the bed in favor of taking a shower.

It’s a pretty uneventful affair, and Markus goes through the simple task with an absent mind, mostly reflecting on what to make for breakfast and if any of his options would be to Connor’s liking. Markus has no intention of forcing Connor to wake up this early in the morning just because Markus himself did so; it is Connor’s day off, so Markus would rather he sleep in for as long as Markus can convince him to.

 That’s how he ends up in the kitchen, fresh out of the shower, cutting up strawberries, sometimes pausing to take a bite of his toast. Markus doesn’t doubt that, if he doesn’t prepare anything for Connor, he would just not eat at all because he refuses to “intrude in Markus’ personal space.” So, he makes a bowl with evenly cut bananas and strawberries, puts some granola and honey in, and decides it’ll have to be enough (North would scoff at it and call it “hippie food”; you take care of your father’s eating habits for long enough and it rubs off on you, he supposes).

Markus feels strangely hesitant once he puts the bowl away in the fridge, realizing that he’s loathing the time when he has to leave, knowing he’ll come back later and find no Connor in his apartment. It’s somehow silly, and he’s sure other people would want their one night stands to be gone as soon as possible, but Markus remembers the exact sensation of Connor’s warm breath on his neck and can’t help wishing this wasn’t a one night stand at all.

That’s a dangerous thought to have, but Markus lets it expand, festering in his mind as a gravely infested wound, like an unique type of disease that compels him to go back to the bedroom and not just stand there and watch Connor breathe, focused so entirely in the way his body moves with it, but to also sit on the edge of the mattress next to Connor. He drags a fingertip delicately down Connor’s spine, feeling each vertebra and cataloguing the raised goosebumps on the pale skin.

If Markus had been paying more attention, he’d notice the signs of Connor waking up; but, as it is, with Markus entranced and enthralled, he barely registers it until Connor rises on one elbow, yawning and shivering.

“Markus…?” Is the first thing he says, just a raspy whisper; he’s most likely confused about the quite unusual wake up call, but Markus relishes in the sound of his name coming from Connor’s mouth like that.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“What time is it?” Connor asks, soon enough flopping back down face first on the bed.

“Too early for you, that much is obvious. Don’t worry about it too much, just go back to sleep.” Markus is prepared to have to argue over it like they usually do when Markus is trying to be nice to Connor; but, it seems he has underestimated just how tired Connor is (or how much he isn’t a morning person), as he nods and falls right back to sleep.

It’s a pleasant development, and honestly it is quite endearing.

So, Markus touches Connor one last time, a simple kiss to the shoulder, before getting on with his day; which, in this case is to finish getting dressed for work and finally head out. He leaves a note on the bedside table for Connor with simple instructions on food (take the bowl from the fridge), coffee (just press the button to heat it), a possible shower (there’s a towel I left for you there) and a reminder to lock the door (key is on the kitchen table, give it to the neighbor on 304 and I’ll pick it up later). _If you need anything, call me_ , written at the end, followed by Markus’ phone number.

And stupidly enough, Markus spends the rest of the day waiting to get a call from Connor, even way past afternoon and into the evening, when Connor would surely have left hours ago. But hope is an irrational thing that doesn’t listen to all of Markus’ logical explanations on why he wouldn’t be getting a call any time soon—at least, not from the person who he wanted it to be.

One day turns into two, which turns into an entire weekend. Times passes, the hope for a phone call is barely something he remembers when he has so much work to get done. As usual, he’ll sometimes see Connor around; they’ll have friendly talks in the break room, now with the addition of humor inserted in their interactions. It’s the same, and it’s different.

He doesn’t forget about it, but he doesn’t dwell on it, either.

A week passes like this and, on a Sunday night, Markus’ phone lights up to display an unknown number. Markus is confused for a slid a solid thirty seconds, until he picks up the device to hear Connor’s voice, as warm as the summer breeze, a casual, “Hello, Markus. Sorry for the sudden call, I was wondering if you were busy this evening?”

It’s straightforward and to the point, exactly what he would expect from Connor. “Not really, unless you count watching whatever is on TV until I fall asleep as being busy.”

“I wouldn’t say so, no, but I’m sure there are people who do. Are you one of those people?”

“Perhaps, it depends on the day,” Markus chuckled, “and on my options. So, why do you want to know?” There’s a beat, the first sign of hesitation, and Connor sighs quietly before speaking again.

“Well, I just wanted to invite you to go out, maybe grab a few drinks. I think it’d be… Enjoyable, to have you there with me.”

At first, Markus’ mind goes to the usual friendly route and he almost says he could also invite the rest of his friends if they’re available. However, once it properly catches up and processes the invitation, Markus quickly realizes what exactly Connor is asking for. And doing it well, as Connor leaves more than enough room for Markus to politely decline.

“Yes, of course,” he replies, a bit too quickly, “I’d love to. Just give me some time to get dressed, you can text me the details.”

As if Markus could simply decline. There’s something to be said about his willingness, maybe even eagerness, but that’s nothing Markus wants to reflect on at the moment. Not when, later in the night, he has Connor in his arms again, shivering and panting. Markus can’t think of anything else than the trails of sweat and flushed skin, nor does he desire to.

That being said, it’s only the next morning, with both Markus and Connor rushing to get ready for work, laughing when the other trips or puts an arm through the wrong shirt hole, that Markus comes to the realization that this negates the “one night stand” status, and it leaves them drifting in uncertain empty spaces, just like the silences that sometimes stretches between them, long and hesitant ellipsis, threatening to break the fragile links of their newfound… Not friendship, no, they drove past that one a week ago. Whatever they had, it was a tentative and flimsy thing.

And yet, it still affected Markus, who was now so attuned to his phone’s ringtone, stomach dropping whenever he thought of Connor’s name being in his notifications, an uncomfortable but also pleasant feeling, as these things were inclined to be.

“There’s no need for you to be alone on a Friday night when I can provide the company,” Markus had said that time at the bar, and Connor seemed to take it to heart, except disregarding the specific week day; he does keep it to the weekends, at least, but Connor doesn’t seem to have a preferred day, nor reservations about having work just a few hours after they’ve collapsed to the bed, sated and ready to sleep.

The time can get absurd sometimes, Markus admits; sometimes it’ll be late evening, but others, it’s late enough to be early, and their coworkers have started giving them looks when they both appear looking worse for wear, clear exhaustion in their eyes, but good mood firmly in place—well, that last one only in Markus’ case, as Connor acts just the same, as if getting insufficient hours of sleep is second nature for him.

That’s how Markus comes to know that Connor, for all his reservations, can be as greedy as everyone else (at least when it comes to having casual sex with his coworker, he supposes), maybe even a little more so. He’s never cruel or inconsiderate about it: there are times that Markus is unable to meet him, or is sincerely too exhausted to stay awake for even one more second, and Connor never complains about it; in fact, he’s very understanding.

Point is, when Connor wants it, he does not hesitate to text Markus, to casually ask if he’s busy, to go to a bar but end up on a bed, switching between clutching the sheets and Markus himself, hands as vicious as they are with a gun in them, firm but trembling, with adrenaline, with pleasure, with urgency. They scratch and grab Markus, scalding, a touch that will burn for days on end, will have him wincing, only for the healing skin to get peeled off again before it can fully stop hurting. And Markus gives it back by biting and sucking on Connor’s collarbones, alternating between tender and rough, an endless cycle. He never goes higher than that, even when Connor had pretty much give Markus the permission to do so.

(“Can I ask you question, Markus?” Connor had asked one time when they’re sitting in bed in just their underwear, a tray of food between them on the mattress. It was one of the few times they got to have a slow morning, an opportunity to cook breakfast and make idle talk.

“Go ahead.”

“Why do you never leave hickeys above the collar?”

Markus is in the middle of lifting a grape to his mouth, but he has to pause at the question, slowly lowering his hand. “I’m sorry, what?” Peach, Connor’s black poodle, looks up from where she’s sleeping on her owner’s lap, curious as to what got Markus so choked up.

“This isn’t a complaint, so rest assured–”

“Thank god,” Markus murmurs sarcastically.

“–but it’s been highly usual for my previous partners to prefer biting higher on my neck. I was wondering if you had any reason to deviate from that.” With how he’s petting Peach and munching on a strawberry, Connor looks a little too innocent for someone who’s asking why Markus doesn’t mark him where everyone can see.

“I just wanted to be respectful. With how hot it is, it’d be hard to hide anything above the collar, I didn’t want to give you trouble or cause you embarrassment at work.”

“I wouldn’t really mind.”

“I know, I’ve seen the hickeys on you before this. Why do you let people do that, then? Doesn’t it make work harder for you, making you look unprofessional?”

Connor averts his eyes to the side, probably meeting the gaze of the two photos on his nightstand: there’s the one of a small Connor smiling with his brother, Richard; in the other, they’re older, more serious, and there’s a stoic looking woman standing between them, hands on their shoulders.

Connor has never talked about her, and Markus has never asked.

“To feel something.”

Richard’s icy gaze burns Markus’ back. He doesn’t ask any more questions, even when he’s itching to do so.)

The pain is satisfying, like being sore after a section of exercise, but deeper, in a way that Markus can never forget, to the point where he’s trailing off in the middle of conversations, daydreaming, remembering, and the almost reverent chorus of _Markus, Markus, more, harder—_ turns into his prayer (and he’s sure there’s something sacrilegious about that, but Markus can’t bring himself to care when it rings true).

It’s not long before the people around him start to notice the change. Markus, who’s never been particularly good at being secretive, slips up too many times, just enough for it to be suspicious. Connor’s name is always on the tip of his tongue, a sweet and intoxicating flavor, and it’s no wonder that he ends up bringing him up frequently, mentions of one of their talks and something he remembers Connor saying or doing. Those are the less incriminating, as it only implies that they have an evolving friendship.

However, it’s when Markus lets escape a comment about how they were having breakfast at the time, or drinking at three in the morning, or driving together to work. It’s the one time when he’s shopping with North and Simon—having been dragged there by them—and he sees a dark navy suit and, without thinking, says it would look good on Connor.

Even his father has noticed: Markus is painfully obvious and Carl is way too perceptive. Markus could never get anything past him, and he doesn’t make it particularly difficult when the first thing he paints when they finally get some time with each other is brown hair and pale skin.

(At the time, Carl had watched him carefully. The scrutiny wasn’t foreign: Carl has done it for as long as Markus can remember, watchful and analyzing. But somehow, this feels different, near invasive; but that might just be paranoia over the knowledge of what—or rather, who—he’s painting at the moment.

He almost messes up the entire thing when Carl says, laughing, “I see you found your muse, then.”)

His friends have started giving him knowing looks whenever he scrambles to check his phone as soon as a notification pops up, often followed by snorts and teasing. But, that’s nothing compared to the embarrassment of when Simon friendly claps Markus on the back, just as he’s talking about being out for drinks with Connor the night before, and he jumps, loudly wincing in pain. It takes half a second for everyone to connect the dots and reach their own conclusions, and Markus can see the exact moment the realization reaches them, especially with Josh resolutely looking out of the window and refusing to talk to any of them as North makes obnoxious gagging sounds.

For awhile, it’s all just funny, with Josh calling him an absolute disaster and North calling him useless and hitting his arm whenever Markus gets distracted; Carl is also having a good time teasing Markus in any and all calls, and it’s the happiest he’s sounded in awhile after the last big fight with Leo. Like many times before, Markus just lets them joke, knows they’re just having fun, and if it makes his loved ones smile, Markus is okay with it.

Simon, however, is different. He would laugh along at the start, sometimes even joining in, but not anymore. Instead, Markus catches Simon glancing worriedly at him, clutching his own hands and looking like he wants to say something.

And he does say it, eventually, when Markus is texting Connor while they’re out just the two of them for the first time in a long while. Markus had commented that his fridge was pretty much empty at this point in a message earlier on, and Simon, who was in a similar situation, suggested they go grocery shopping together for a chance to catch up (and because now they couldn’t post pone doing it for one more week).

Markus is trying to decide on what fruits to buy and how many, when he opts to talk to Connor about it.

**Markus [4:03pm]**

should I buy more strawberries again? you ate all of mine

**Connor [4:04pm]**

You make it sound like you didn’t take part in it. You are the one always making breakfast, after all.

**Markus [4:04pm]**

yes, but you are the one eating them

I’m just the one providing it

am I wrong?

**Connor [4:06pm]**

…Perhaps not.

**Markus [4:06pm]**

I’ll take that as a yes on the strawberries

**Connor [4:09pm]**

Don’t forget the coffee beans.

**Markus [4:10pm]**

never

 

It’s short exchange, but it has Markus smiling throughout the entire thing. His lips are still upturned when he turns to Simon, mouth open to tell he’s going to the next isle, but Simon is already looking at him, frowning heavily, shoulders tense. It makes Markus pause, then frown himself.

“Simon? Is something wrong?” Markus asks, holding Simon by the shoulder reassuringly just in case.

“No, no, of course not,” Simon replies, shaking his head. But he’s still frowning, though less, visibly forcing himself to relax now that Markus’ attention is on him.

“Are you sure? You don’t look fine.”

“Yeah, I am, don’t worry about it, just–” He cuts himself off, sighing. He opens his mouth, but says nothing; as hesitant as he’s been for weeks now. Simon glances at the hand on his shoulder. “Were you talking to Connor…? Just now, I mean,” he says carefully.

“Yes, I was, I had to ask him something– What does that have to do with this?”

“Nothing! Everything.” Markus is sure his frown is just as heavy as Simon’s was, confusion written clearly on his face. “Just… I need to ask you something, so just listen to me for a bit.”

“Yes, of course, bu–”

“Are you in love with Connor?”

The question hits him a like a punch to the gut, and he lets a confused and surprised gasp of air that makes it almost sound like he’s choking; which is perfectly fitting for how Markus feels, stomach dropping, insides knotted. Even his tongue feels weirdly out of place in his mouth.

“I wasn’t sure, since you’re a very tactile and affectionate person,” he pointedly looks at Markus’ hand on him again, “to the point where everyone in our friend group has been mistaken as your partner at least once. But, it feels somehow different when Connor is involved. I can’t explain it exactly, and it might be just a gut feeling…”

Simon moves away from Markus’ hands, but closer to him in general, returning the touch by putting a hand on Markus’ biceps. “I don’t know the details of your relationship with him, but when I thought about it… I wondered if you two are on the same page. I’m worried about you.”

Markus was petrified, frozen inside out with the burning cold of dread, but his mind was blank. He nodded to Simon, the movement slow. “I’ll think about it. Give me some time.” Which didn’t answer the question, which didn’t translate the chaos and turmoil spiraling in Markus’ body, but Simon gave him a small smile and went back to grocery shopping.

He said he’d think about it, and that’s not a lie.

A few days later, Markus meets up with Connor again. Just two weeks prior to this Connor had admitted, low and vulnerable in a way that he rarely was, that because there were so many people at the bar and Connor often didn’t know how to act towards new people, being in one put him on edge (“…But being surrounded by strangers is better than being surrounded by dark corners and the noises of your own mind.”), so the two of them agreed to meet at each other’s place more frequently than not.

Tonight, then, they’re sitting close together in companionable silence on the rooftop, a beer bottle for each of them. There are few stars to see in the sky and Connor is warm where they touch, a constant and grounding presence by his side. Too bad Markus is too absentminded at the moment to fully appreciate it.

“You seem preoccupied.” Connor’s voice cuts through the fog in Markus’ mind, prompting him to look at the other. “Is something on your mind?”

“As expected of the brilliant homicide investigator, always attentive to details,” Markus comments hollowly.

“Yes, in a way. But you’re not one of my cases, so that’s irrelevant at the moment.” Connor’s fingers trace the lip of the bottle, satisfying his ever present urge to move. Markus wants to interlace their fingers and feel Connor tap on the inside of his wrist as he fidgets. He frowns. “And you’re not one to bring work into your personal life, at least not when you’re with me. In fact, you’ve clearly steered away from mentions of it many times before. So it does make me wonder what would cause you to make a comment like that now.”

They look at each other for maybe a little too long, the air so tense that it’s hard to breathe it in, and Markus is left quietly suffocating. His fingers twitch, longing for something, uncertain of what. Connor’s eyes, boring into him, appear almost black; Markus has always liked how dark Connor’s eyes are, remembers drowning in it many times before, even before they started this whole thing. Whenever Connor caught his eyes, Markus was captured and paralyzed, unable to drop his gaze.

But thinking about how beautiful Connor’s eyes were did nothing to alleviate the crushing pain in his chest, so Markus looked away, taking a long swig of his beer. “It’s nothing serious, just a little stressed.”

Connor hums, but it’s skeptical. “Shouldn’t you be resting today? It’s usually what you do if something’s getting you down, especially if it’s work related.”

“You noticed a pattern in my reasons for passing up an invite from you? Are you _sure_ I’m not one of your cases?” Markus asks, but it’s light, teasing; no matter how conflicted Markus is at the moment, he had no desire to actually take it out on Connor.

“I tend to keep track of everything I learn about the ones I’m close to. Is that so unusual?”

“Are we close?”

“Are we not?”

Markus opts for silence instead of the honest answer, a simple “I don’t know”. Connor, however, seems to take the lack of response negatively. He pulls his shoulder away from where it’s touching Markus; it’s a small thing, the distance barely there, but Markus feels the cold wind with stark sensitivity.

“I might have made assumptions based on how much time we spend together. You have my favorite coffee brand in your kitchen and Peach can recognize your footsteps as quick as she would my brother’s.” Markus already regrets not giving a proper answer, even more so when Connor turns sad eyes on him. “I was under the impression we’re close friends.”

“Friends”, Markus gets this close to snorting out loud. Or screaming, maybe. Not at Connor, but just in general. He remembers Simon saying he didn’t think they’re on the same page. He wishes Simon hadn’t said anything.

And yet, he laughs quietly and shakes his head. “Of course we are,” he lies. Because friends barely grazed the surface, had none of the weight of all of Markus’ feelings, accounted for none of the nights they sent in each other’s arms. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I guess you are right, I’m a bit out of it today.”

“Do you want to call it a night?”

Markus ponders on it. He thinks of Simon’s words, of Connor’s sad eyes. Thinks back to the only two pictures back at Connor’s place: the shy smiles of two identical children, the cold gaze of a woman Markus knew nothing about. He thinks of Connor’s lips on his, the black dog hairs clinging to Connor’s clothes, thinks of all the corners and folds of Connor’s life that has barely got a glimpse into.

“No, it’s fine. I’d rather have you here right now.”

“Then you have me.”

Markus touched Connor’s cheek, sliding down to gently put two fingers under his chin, dragging him a bit closer. With his other hand, Markus takes away Connor’s beer bottle so he can finally sate his need to bring their palms together, the pads of their fingers touching. Markus relishes in the feeling for a long moment, happily lingers there, but ultimately closes his hand. Carefully, like Connor could break at the faintest of winds, Markus kisses his knuckles.

“And you have me as well,” Markus whispers against his skin, earning a quiet sigh for it.

“Do I, Markus?”

Markus has a billion of answers to that, most of them questions, some of it cruel. But Connor is squeezing his hand and frowning, more sincere than anything else he would get months ago, and more human than any of their colleagues ever got.

It’s intimate in a way that wouldn’t make sense for anyone else but them, and it has Markus immediately nodding. “Yes, you do.”

He brought Connor closer, leaning in for a kiss, and Connor follows, pliant in his hands, blooming when their lips collide. They share the taste of the beer they were drinking, and it’s a familiar flavor by now, common to so many of their nights. The air is still cold, but Markus is burning in hot lava; but instead of pulling away, he holds Connor closer, invites the flames in and inhales the ashes. He’s suffocating again, and it’s perfect.

“You got me,” Markus repeats once they pull away, “for as long as you need me.”

_Are you in love with him?_

“That might be longer than you expect.”

_Does it matter?_

 

* * *

 

“You do that a lot,” Connor mumbles when he’s almost falling asleep.

“Do what?”

“Watching me. You always did, even back at academy, from the moment we first met.” Markus’ hand, going through the repetitive motion of petting Connor’s hair, pauses. He looks down, trying to get a look at Connor’s face, though that is quite the impossible feature when Connor is buried in his chest.

“You still remember that?”

Connor nods. “Why wouldn’t I?” He looks up, and it’s clear from his droopy eyes that Connor is battling to stay awake at the moment. “At the time, you said I caught your attention.”

“Yes. I was curious, about how you were planning to hit the target wit, about how you were planning to hit the target with our hands shaking like that.” Markus laughs when he notices Connor’s hands are doing just that, and Connor closes his fists to still it. “But I admit there’s always been something in you that pulled me in, I couldn’t stop looking.” That’s the extremely short version of it, but it’ll have to do for now.

Or maybe forever.

“Why me? What’s so special about me?”

“I don’t know,” Markus replies, and Connor pouts at him, clearly unhappy with the answer. Markus laughs quietly and kisses his forehead. “What do you want to me say here?”

Connor shrugs, dropping the subject once Markus fails to give him a satisfying answer. He’s sure that, had Connor been more awake, he’d have insisted on it; Connor was rarely one to give up on getting what he wanted, it made him the most stubborn person at the police force, followed closely by Markus himself.

There’s no longer a reason to reply, especially now when Connor is drifting off. But Markus feels compelled to, as he kisses Connor’s forehead again, whisper, quietly, “All I know is that I’m too busy looking at you to look at anyone else.”

**Author's Note:**

> I think my love for North really jumped out in this fic tbh jfhddsfkd just bc I've seen way too much hate on her: if you dislike her, that's absolutely okay, but please don't bring it into my comment section, thank you.
> 
> Also, this fic was actually gonna be from Connor's perspective, but bc of the descriptions in the first scene (i.e: Connor's aim, his shaking hands, his intimidating aura), I changed it to Markus. Because of this, much of what Connor's going through and his personal life is left ambiguous, but I think that suits the fic just fine.
> 
> Ps: I feel like someone might comment on this so. Interpret Simon's feelings for Markus as you want, go bonkers. Death of the author and all that
> 
>  
> 
> [find me on tumblr!](http://mamichigo.tumblr.com/)


End file.
